I have to say, the peach pie sucked. Have you ever had a piece of fresh pie, home-made and then, within a few days had a slice of frozen pie? It’s kind of like seeing a movie about scenery such as Yosemite in black and white, thirties vintage maybe, and then actually going to the park for real. The sweet smell of the forest knocks you off your feet. The Merced River is running right at your feet and the pines smell as fresh and clean as if God just planted them. Yeah, that’s how the peach pie tasted: black and white. The coffee was pretty good though!
The cook, his name was Dan, Dan Spiner (in case you know him), was just getting off work and out of the hazy blue asked me if I wanted to go to the sheriffs department and find out what was going on with Amos.
“Hey, if you’re interested, you and me can take a ride down to the sheriffs and find out what they’re going to do with Amos. The sheriff and I went to school together, same grade, and he won’t mind if we drop in. Shit, he’s probably got a rope tied into a noose already. A rope for Amos, not for us.” How could I say “no?”
Riding in his car was a journey of power versus intelligence; if that makes any sense. He was driving a ’56 Chevy with a 427 cubic inch engine. At least, that’s what he told me; with a grin on his face. It felt like riding on a bomb. I could feel the engine rumbling right through my stomach and when he accelerated, which he did in fits and starts, he laid me back in my seat with a snap that told me he could probably pop the nose off the ground if he wanted. I thanked God we were in town. Out on the highway he would have scared me to death. He used his head though so it turned out to be just a fun ride with the potential of mayhem. It was interesting!